


Red Cloak

by softgrungeprophet



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 18th Century, Alternate Universe - Little Red Riding Hood Fusion, Flirting, Gen, No Smut, Slow Paced, Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-05
Updated: 2016-02-05
Packaged: 2018-05-18 10:06:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5924386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softgrungeprophet/pseuds/softgrungeprophet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wolves can come in many forms.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Red Cloak

Chuck pulled his hood up around his face—sure, it was spring, but it hadn't quite warmed up enough to go cloakless. The spring breeze, with the remnants of winter on its tail, would worm its way through anything. He made sure he had everything he needed, straightening his clothes. Basket weighed itself down, full of food and wine. A knife, too. But of course it was a round-tipped knife, to eat with. Less dangerous, but still useful. He supposed he could defend himself with it if someone jumped him in the woods.

No...

If someone jumped him in the woods he would probably just lay down like a tired dog and let them take all of his things.

He latched the basket shut and hooked the handles over his arm. Ready to go. Just had to lock the door on his way out. But first—a palm-sized corduroy rabbit, soft and brown, went into the inner pocket of his cloak. A good luck charm, but also just a reassurance. Its threadbare face comforted Chuck, and its weight made him feel less alone as he left the house.

Worn leather gloves kept his fingers warm in the cool morning air. He made his way toward the forest, along the beaten-in path through the grasses and budding flowers. The dew on the tips of the plants brushed off onto his knees as he went, but his cloak and stockings were thick enough for it not to matter.

Sunlight filtered through the canopy in long peachy-gold streamers, dappling the dirt and pebble path through the trees ahead of Chuck. He looked up through the leaves a moment, just to admire everything around him, and then set off. The woods were surprisingly quiet for the season—just a few peeps here and there, and the slight fluttering of hidden animals and insects. A squirrel hopped in front of Chuck once, with its little orangey-brown ears sticking up before it ran off. Chuck smiled.

It was a nice walk, meandering through the outer portions of the forest, every once in a while dazzled by the rising sunlight peeking through the leaves. Chuck had to block his face a few times, as he went. Every once in a while, he passed a sign. Simple, four directions, pointing out north, south, east, and west, and telling the traveler what might be found in each direction. Chuck only glanced to make sure he was going east, as he had forgotten his compass. But he knew his destination—his childhood home, northeast of the forest. In theory he probably could have taken a safer route and went around the woods, and over the broad river that cut the road in two... But it was so much faster to go through the forest, especially as the river went underground at the edge of the trees so crossing became a non-issue. But the deeper he traveled into the woods, the more he hoped he worried about his safety, so perhaps the river would have been a better bet...

It grew dimmer, as the trees thickened and reached up higher into the sky, with their new spring growth. Sunlight still trickled in, through the cracks in the canopy, but it had so many more obstacles that Chuck felt like he was traveling pre-dawn. He tightened his cloak about himself, wrapping his fingers in the blood colored wool. In retrospect, he thought maybe he should have taken the fur-lined cloak instead...

Chuck sighed.

A few hours along, and Chuck began to be hungry—certainly tired. He had stopped here and there, certainly, but even with lots of breaks, three hours of walking had worn him out. He sat on a mostly-sturdy fallen tree, with only a bit of moss on it, and opened the lid of his basket. A little bit of bread, a little bit of cheese... Chuck took his time resting and eating, listening to the birds chirping around him.

Less pleasant was the whirr and buzz of little gnats and bugs flitting around. Chuck shooed them from his face as he ate.

When he had finished eating, he sat a while longer. Just relaxing. The air smelled so fresh and clean, of soil and leaves and newly blooming flowers. As he sat with his eyes closed, listening to the sounds of the forest, he heard a few small snaps. Normal, probably a small animal in the underbrush. But a heavier snap and the sound of footsteps alerted him to the presence of another person. He opened his eyes to see a man approaching up the path. Chuck drew his cloak tight about his shoulders and even flipped the hood up. To be fair, it was a little chilly in the shadows.

The man wore a curious expression that caused his forehead to wrinkle. He stopped a few feet away from Chuck. "Hello..." His hair stuck up like a bird's feathers, blonde. "May I ask who you are?"

"Um..." Chuck stood up, picking up his basket and standing a little stiffly. "I'm Chuck." He glanced around. "Where did you come from?"

The man gestured to a space in the trees down the path with a slight grin. "Shortcut. My name is Lucifer." He came closer, a few steps, and held a hand out. "Are you lost? You look like the child from the stories, with that red hood." His grin widened, almost cat-like in the way it curled across his face.

Chuck shook Lucifer's hand with some reluctance—his bare fingers were cold, through Chuck's thin gloves. "My hood's not for riding, but I guess it _is_ red, and I _am_ wandering through the forest all alone..." He reached up and pulled his hood back down, a little less concerned though still wary. "You're not a wolf, are you...?" His hand lingered at his neck, and he laughed nervously. Small and breathy.

"Oh, surely not." Lucifer raised his eyebrows. "Do I seem that way?"

With a shrug, Chuck let himself smile more naturally. He looked up the path and said, "Well, I should get going." He gave Lucifer a little wave, a wag of his fingers, and inched away. Slowly, in case Lucifer wanted to say something else, but—

"Oh, farewell." Lucifer bowed, oddly enough, with a sweep of his arm as if he held some invisible hat. "Don't allow yourself to be eaten by wolves on the way to your father's house." A wink, and he slipped off into the trees. Again, not on the path, but winding between trunks along some secret way only he seemed to know.

Thoughtful, Chuck continued down the well-worn path, shoes tapping against the more firmly packed areas of the soil. A few feet along, he frowned. Had he mentioned his destination? He shook the thought from his head and kept up a brisk pace through the dimly lit woods. It grew gradually darker and bluer, and eventually started to rain. Not much made it through the canopy, just a light drizzle here and there, but Chuck could hear the hush and rustle of raindrops through the leaves as he walked. He kept his hood up, just in case. The air was very still since the morning breeze had died down, and the woods grew quiet in the rain. It brought up that strong smell from the plants and soil, as the water trickled down to the ground.

Every once in a while, the undergrowth rustled from the journey of some small rodent or other animal, but for the most part everything kept so silent and still it made Chuck a little uncomfortable. He was relieved to find a stream, rippling through the ferns and pebbles, making a nice little tinkling noise. He stopped there a bit, to drink some wine and nibble some bread. A sparrow hopped over to him, so he tossed it some crumbs. Each piece of bread brought it closer until it almost hopped right into his hands for a morsel. Chuck grinned and left it with a few crumbs and a bit of hard crust.

Leaving behind the gentle mutter of the stream and that overly friendly bird made Chuck somewhat lonely. Back on the quiet, empty path... He checked one of the sparse signs to make sure he was still going east, as the path branched in several spots—he kept on his way.

He saw clearing up ahead, and his feet hurt, so Chuck decided a nice break was in order. Although, the flowers and grasses were soaked... He decided resting his legs would be worth a little bit of dampness and turned off into the clearing.

Surprisingly, there was another person there. In fact, it was Lucifer.

"Oh—" Chuck paused, in the middle of the meadow-like area. He let his hood down, as the rain had stopped, and set his basket on the mossy ground. "How did you get here?"

Lucifer looked up from the compass in his hand, one eyebrow cocked, and grinned. He pocketed the compass and gave a languid shrug, leaning against the white curve of a birch tree. "I know this forest like the back of my hand." He held his hand up, palm out. "I know all the shortcuts. The ways that are only taken by the lynx and the mountain lion, the black squirrel and the gray wolf..." He pushed away from the tree and came closer to Chuck. But then he turned away, standing and gazing up at still-clouded the sky. Chuck could just see the arm-length axe sheathed and strapped to Lucifer's side, its haft pushing away his cloak to drape oddly toward his knees.

Chuck took note of the weapons Lucifer had. The long axe, the hatchet at his belt. Surely a dagger somewhere. Chuck had no idea. He sat on his basket. "Are you a woodsman?"

"A woodsman?" Lucifer glanced back at him, over his shoulder. "Maybe. I hunt a little, I cut firewood, so maybe." He snickered to himself. "Been known to skin a few deer, so I guess you could call me a hunter."

Chuck nodded. Frowned. "Just don't skin _me_..." He hunched his shoulders, wishing the sun would come back out from behind the thin clouds. Lucifer, on the other hand, seemed entirely fine. Not even a little cold. His sleeves were rolled up to the elbow, even. Chuck let out a sigh.

"I've no use for human skin, so don't worry." Lucifer put a hand against the head of his hatchet. Then he let his hand fall away. "Left my knives at home, anyway."

"What about... a gun?"

That seemed to catch Lucifer's attention. He looked back at Chuck again, blue eyes strangely bright. For a moment, he stayed silent, but then he turned and walked slowly over to Chuck. "You confuse me." He reached under his cloak and pulled out a pistol. He held it up, pointed to the sky as he said, "You sit there, unflinching, yet you imply that I might kill you at any moment." He re-holstered it at his thigh, and it was once more obscured by the heavy gray fabric of his cloak. "I can practically smell that you must fear me, and yet you just... sit."

Chuck stared at him a moment before turning his attention to the grass beneath his feet. "I've never... seen a gun before."

"What—" Lucifer's face scrunched up for a moment before he carefully controlled his expression to a more smooth display of incredulity. "Never?"

"I don't leave my house except to visit my father. We hunt with arrows, if we hunt. He protects himself with knives, if he needs to."

Lucifer came closer still. Crouched in front of Chuck, watching him. "How do you protect yourself?"

Silence fell, stiff and odd. Chuck shrugged. "I don't." He leaned back a little, then thought better of it as he didn't particularly want to fall backwards off of a wooden basket. He caught Lucifer's eye, which in turn caught the sunlight seeping through a crack in the clouds. Chuck looked more closely at Lucifer's face. So... distinct. And such rough, scarred skin along his forehead and cheekbones. Chuck opened his mouth to speak, but Lucifer cut him off—

"You're odd." Lucifer stood, leaving Chuck to feel tiny in comparison. He looked off into the trees, distant. Muttered something incoherent to himself before looking down at Chuck. "How far are you from your father's house?"

Chuck craned his neck to look up at Lucifer's silhouetted face. "Close."

"How close?"

A shrug, even more calm than before—forcibly calm? Chuck blinked slowly.

Lucifer let out a displeased grunt. "Let me walk with you." He held his hand out to Chuck, clearly intending to help him to his feet.

For a moment Chuck considered brushing him off, but instead he let himself be pulled upright. He almost stumbled into Lucifer, but caught himself. Still had to look up, when he muttered, "Thank you..." Lucifer was so tall and broad. Chuck stepped back, until his heel bumped against the basket of food. "Oh—" He twisted and picked up his basket, hooking it over his elbow before looking to Lucifer. "You didn't offer to escort me before, so why now?"

Lucifer shook his head, heading out of the clearing. "Your resemblance to the tale—I just... find myself concerned that you might find a wolf on daddy's doorstep."

"Ready to gobble me up? I doubt it." Chuck scurried after Lucifer, pulling up even with him before the path. He hopped in front of him... Though the path really wouldn't branch out any longer as it headed east, he still felt as though he ought to lead the way. "Even if there was a wolf at the door, it would probably be there because it's hungry and weak... Otherwise, why leave the forest?" He shook his head. "My father would handle it."

"Surely." Lucifer kept right at Chuck's back as they went.

Nothing happened, on the walk out of the forest. The trees thinned, and no ravenous canines leapt out to eat Chuck. The sun melted away the clouds, and warmed the air as the woods gave way to a rough dirt road. No one was around, and the world was calm. The loudest noise was the various clinks of Lucifer's holsters and sheaths.

As they walked, Chuck noted the soft bump of the corduroy rabbit against his side. He had forgotten about it, but remembering its presence in his pocket he found himself doubly reassured in spite of his still-present worry that Lucifer might hatchet him in the back if he so desired—Chuck would be unable to fight back, after all... The thought both scared and exhilarated him, for some reason. He glanced over at Lucifer, who seemed just as lost in his own thoughts as Chuck had been in his. He didn't even notice Chuck staring at him—not until Chuck stumbled over a dip in the road.

"Watch your feet, red riding hood."

Chuck could feel a swirl of heat pool in his face and collar. He kept his attention solely on the ground, and his feet, rather than on the strange blue of Lucifer's eyes.

Not much longer, and they came to a farm. A house. Not Chuck's childhood home, but a sign of life no less, with smoke curling out of the chimney. Chuck picked up the pace, energized and ready to get to his destination.

Just a few homes more until he would see his father...

Yes, an old wooden house, flagstone path, crooked fence, warm windows... More of a cabin than anything else, but a nice cabin. The kind that looked almost two stories, with windows by the loft Chuck knew existed inside. And he could see the garden spilling out over the fence posts and smoke rising out of the stone chimney. He hurried up the path, stopping only long enough to open the gate. Whether Lucifer followed, he didn't pay much mind.

Straight to the front door, with a strong knock. "Papa, it's me!"

"Oh, Chuck!" His father's voice was muffled but vibrant. Only a few seconds passed before the door was pushed open and Chuck found himself enveloped by warmth—from the heated interior of the home, but also from his father's strong arms. He melted into the embrace willingly, happy to be home (well, at one of two homes) after so long walking through the forest. Eventually, he drew back from his father's hug, glancing over his shoulder.

No surprise—Lucifer had disappeared. Probably satisfied that Chuck had gotten to his destination safely.

"What are you looking at, hm?" Chuck's father patted his cheek, hands warm and familiar. "Come inside and let's eat."

Chuck smiled and let himself be ushered into the warm main room of the cottage. He hung his cloak up by the door. The fireplace burned strong and bright, and the table was bare, ready for food to be laid out. Chuck set his basket on the tabletop and took out the soft cheese, bread baked that morning, spiced wine, gingerbread cake—and one full jar of honey, a gift from a neighbor and something Chuck thought his father might appreciate.

"Oh, wonderful—" His father helped him set the table and slice some bread. He brought out salted butter, too, and a bowl of berries. "Picked from the garden just this morning." He smiled as he laid everything out, humming to himself.

Resisting the urge to hum as well, Chuck buttered some bread and drizzled it with honey before sitting at the table, as near as he could get to the fireplace. He half-closed his eyes as he ate, and listened to the sound of his father bustling about, and to the crackle of the fire and occasional creak of the wooden floor. To be home again soothed him.

"How long are you staying?"

Chuck looked at his father, and thought a moment. "No more than a day or two, I don't think." He wiped his mouth on his sleeve.

His dad grinned, ruddy from the fire and all his bustling about. "That's wonderful! It'll be so nice to have some time with you—" He shook his head, still smiling. "It gets so quiet, without anyone here..." He sighed lightly, leaning his elbows on the table and looking wistfully across the room. But then he shook himself and turned his attention on Chuck. "How was the trip here?"

"Oh," Chuck leaned back in his chair. "It was alright. It drizzled a little, but other than that there wasn't anything really out of the ordinary or frustrating..." He trailed off, distracted by a whorl on the table but also realizing what he said wasn't quite true. A moment's pause, and he continued. "Well, there was _something_..."

His father tilted his head, eyebrows up in curiosity. "Yes?"

Chuck frowned. "I met a man, in the forest—" He looked down at his hands as he spoke. "Tall, and blonde, and I think he's... a hunter? Or a woodsman. He walked with me to the front door, but then he must have had somewhere to go, because he was gone when you answered." He trailed his fingertip along the wooden tabletop. "Said his name was Lucifer..."

"Hm, well... Did he have hooves instead of feet? Because that sounds mysterious and suspicious." Chuck's father laughed, as if he had told some hilarious joke. He made a more serious expression before continuing, though his eyes still creased at the corners. "I don't know that I've met such a man, but I trust you were careful?"

With a quick nod, Chuck muttered, "I kept my distance—he had a flintlock pistol."

A look of worry crossed his father's face before clearing to something more neutral. "A pistol? Now that's a man to be careful around, whether he's a hunter or not..."

"Yeah... Strong man with a pistol, hatchet, axe... He would have had knives but he said he left them at home..." Chuck wrinkled his nose as he thought. "He scared me at first—well, not just at first...He was intimidating but he seemed alright?" He crossed his legs and folded his hands in his lap, only fidgeting a small bit. "He didn't hurt me, after all."

"A good thing." Chuck's father shook his head with a little click of his tongue.

They passed the afternoon talking and eating, but eventually Chuck's father wanted to go to the market. Having spent most of the day walking, Chuck opted to stay behind, sitting by the smoldering fire with a bit of mulled wine. He closed his eyes. Occasionally, the breeze would rattle the door or a window. Not too hard, but just enough to keep him from dozing off completely in the dimly lit room. Something scraped, occasionally, as well—likely branches against the side of the house, or a stray animal. As long as no birds flew into the chimney, he didn't mind.

But the sound grew louder. A scritching scratch seemingly at the front door. Chuck huffed and set aside his nearly empty mug so he could peek out the window. No people, but he craned his neck to get a look at the doorstep.

"Oh—"

It was a dog, or something. A big dog, a very big dog, with clean but ruffled white-blonde fur, and a bushy tail. Chuck cracked the door open a little bit. The dog looked at him with big blue eyes. Chuck crouched down, though he kept the door closed most of the way... Just in case it was a _rabid_ dog. He reached a finger out, carefully... When it didn't show any signs of hostility, he touched the tip of its nose. It cocked its head, one ear sticking up a little.

Chuck smiled. "You're a cute doggy, huh?" He stroked its scarred nose.

It whuffled at him.

"You wanna come inside? Huh, doggy?" Chuck opened the door up. Probably foolish, to let a completely unknown animal into his father's house, but... It was just so cute... It trotted in without any hesitation and headed straight for the fireplace, flopping down in front of the smoldering wood. Though it was not too cold outside, it still probably much preferred the comforting warmth of the hearth.

Chuck pulled a chair up to the fireplace, wiggling his bare toes. The dog licked his foot, as dogs like to do—he wrinkled his nose up, pulling his feet up and out of its reach.

After just a few minutes of sitting and not doing much, the dog fell asleep.

Its chest rose and fell in the firelight. Side marked with scars, but fur still thick where it grew. Chuck watched it sleep. He got up just once, to get a pear from the tree outside. It was a little firm, but that didn't bother him much. He sliced the core out and cut it into pieces—some he kept for himself and some he set on the hearth by the dog's nose. A nice little treat for when it woke up.

After eating half of the pear, he fell asleep himself, so cozy by the fireplace.

When he woke up, the dog had left. The pear slices were gone too.

"Aw..." Chuck stretched his arms over his head and his legs out far before getting up to check the door—closed firmly. "How did a dog close the door...?" He opened it quick, just to peek out at the dirt street. Mostly empty. The sun hung low, just coloring the clouds golden at the edges. Chuck craned out, searching for signs of his father's return. A little dust on the horizon, perhaps.

He shook his head and closed the door again.

As the sun set, Chuck tended to the fire. The air grew colder the darker it got. He lit the lamp outside the door, and one in the shadows beneath the loft. He kept one window slightly cracked open, for some fresh air, and sat beside the fire with a sigh. He held his corduroy rabbit, flapping the ears around as he waited. Flip flop flap.

"Oh my God," Chuck rubbed his face, setting the rabbit down on his lap. "I'm a child."

A clip-clop sounded outside and Chuck looked up. The sound stopped nearby, and he heard a whinny. To his feet—he looked out the window, and sure enough a tall gray horse stood hooked up to a cart. His father climbed out and seemed to tip the driver before coming up to the steps. Chuck opened the door for him and helped him get everything inside.

Basic supplies—dried and pickled goods, to last. Fresher fruits and meats for immediate use. Bread, cheese...

"Did you have a good time resting?" Chuck's father grinned at him, as they set the food down.

Chuck shrugged. "I slept a lot." He looked through the cloth bags of supplies—a few candles, and some oil. "Met a big dog and gave it some pears." A bolt of calico fabriccaught his eye. "What's this for?" He pulled at the corner.

"Oh," His father came over and pulled some out further to show the tiny floral pattern. "Well, it's an imitation so it's not actually imported, and it was misprinted and damaged so I got it for a small amount." He shook his head. "Wrong colors and a bit of tearing, and it was half the price of the others."

Chuck squinted at the cloth. A bit hard to see with firelight alone. He went across the room to grab the lamp and came back to get a closer look. Tiny yellowish flowers interspersed with larger dirty orange clusters and brown vines. He raised his eyebrows. "Did they want a red, or something?"

"I think it was green and red both that they wanted but... Something didn't work out." Chuck's father shook his head, sitting at the table. "I think it's nice, though."

"Yeah." Chuck set the cloth aside and went to put the lamp back where it belonged. He returned to stand by the fire, watching the flames twist. "What are you gonna use it for, anyway?"

His father shrugged. "I was thinking of making a shirt." He leaned back in his chair, propping his feet up on the other one across from him. "You need a nice shirt, right? Don't know how fast the dye in that is, or how durable the fabric but... No harm in having a pretty shirt for special occasions."

"Oh—" Chuck scratched the back of his neck. "I don't know... I don't want you to use that for me, since you like it so much..."

His dad laughed. "No, no. There's plenty. It was messed up enough I got it all. Sure, it might need some patching but there'll be plenty extra. Anyway, when was the last time I made you a shirt?"

"A few months ago!"

"Oh." Chuck's father put a hand to his forehead. "You've got me there." He smiled and closed his eyes as he thought. Just relaxing, humming a little. "A few months is still quite a while."

Chuck shook his head. "Sure, sure." He sat on the floor in front of the fireplace. "You do what you want, papa. I'm not stopping you."

His father laughed. "You couldn't even if you wanted to. You better let me measure you tonight."

"Fine, fine." Chuck glanced over his shoulder. "Just don't stick me with any pins."

"Promise."

Before taking Chuck's measurements, his father started making a pot of soup. The house was quite warm when he took the cloth tape to Chuck's shoulders and so on, and Chuck didn't even mind standing without a shirt on. He almost dozed off once... Snapping fingers beneath his nose got his attention, though.

It was a calm night. Measuring, double-checking, measuring again... Chuck stirred the soup while his father worked on laying out some kind of pattern for a shirt. He kept having to stop what he was doing so his father could hold something up to him or check a length he was unsure about.

That didn't go on all night, of course. Chuck's father set the fabric aside so they could eat, and after downing a great deal of soup Chuck was too tired to continue with all the fitting. He hugged his father and climbed the ladder up to the loft, all dark and quiet. He found the spare mattress in a dim corner, and covered up with a pile of blankets while a slight glow flickered through the floorboards from the fireplace.

He fell asleep listening to his father humming as he worked.

The morning found Chuck surprisingly energized but quite sore, especially in the calves. He took his time getting down the ladder, that was for certain. He ate some fruit for breakfast—already sliced by his father, who was out tending to the garden and the chickens. Drizzled in honey, too. The sun was still low, glinting warmly over the dew as Chuck went out the back door into the tangle of plants and flowers his father had kept since Chuck's childhood.

A great deal of climbing vines covered everything, but there were also neat plots for vegetables and fruits, and a lot of herbs.

Chuck's father stood with the chickens, giving them little crumbs and playing around.

When he noticed Chuck, he waved, and drew up some water from the well to wash the dirt from his hands. "You snored last night!"

Chuck frowned. "I don't snore...!" He put his hands on his hips. "Anyway, I know it's only been a day but I have to go back this afternoon. The more time I spend without writing, the less money I make!" He sat on an old wooden bench beside the well, next to his father.

"So soon..." His father patted his shoulder. "Let me finish up your shirt and pack you a lunch, and then I'll let you go."

"Of course." Chuck looked up at the sky. A little cloudy, but mostly clear blue. After a moment he pushed himself to his feet—back to the shade inside the house, with just a few thin slices of light slipping between shutters and wood panels.

His father followed, throwing open all the doors and shutters to let in light and fresh air. After finding the half-finished shirt, he had Chuck stand in the doorway, checking his handiwork. Once satisfied, he sat down on a stool just outside the door to get to work. He hummed as he sewed, and Chuck sat on the floor watching.

Just like being a child again. Even with a different tune being hummed, the moment brought Chuck back to being seven or eight and watching his father hem a pair of socks or trousers in the morning. The only thing missing was a handful of roasted almonds or dried apples.

Chuck's father finished the shirt by mid afternoon—a speedy seamster as always, considering it only took him the end of one day and half of another...

"Here, try this on," He held the shirt up with a smile. "Shouldn't be any pins stuck in it."

"Oh," Chuck took the shirt and looked at it for a moment. It was simple, and his father had only used the calico cloth for the main part, while the collar was simply stiff cotton and the sleeves were something more sheer and off-white. "I guess this is to wear over another shirt?" Chuck pulled it on. It was shorter than his undershirt by a good few inches, and fit comfortably over it.

"Yes." His father had him turn around to see how it fit. "Not to be washed particularly often or roughly... Best to wear it rarely and over a linen shirt." He smiled. "Maybe you can wear it to whatever kind of fancy little party writers like you go to."

Chuck wrinkled his nose. "I don't go to parties. I just write for the newspaper."

"What about those little books?"

With a shrug, Chuck muttered, "Well those are just silly horror stories I write by hand..."

"I guess!" His father laughed and gave him a firm pat on the back. "Either way, I'm sure you'll find someplace to wear it."

Chuck gave his father a smile. "I'm sure." He hugged him and retreated to his things—to get dressed while his father prepared a meal he could take traveling. In the shadows, Chuck considered his clothing. He hadn't actually brought a change of clothes, and he had worn the same shirt all the previous day and through the night... He decided wearing a new shirt wouldn't hurt, even if it wasn't really suited for traveling. Anyway, his waistcoat would protect it some, and then the jacket and cloak over that. Fully dressed, barely any of the shirt was exposed at all. He brought his basket with him over to the door.

"Simple, but I'm sure you won't mind." His father handed him what seemed to be a wrapped sandwich, some pears, and a bit of the cake and bread Chuck himself had brought as a gift the day before. "I figure you won't mind some of the breads. I won't be able to eat it all, anyway."

"I guess..." Chuck kissed his father on the cheek. "I'm sorry I didn't stay longer."

His father shook his head. "Oh, don't you worry about that." He took Chuck's face in your hands. "A solid morning with you was plenty. If I had gone to the market in the morning instead of the afternoon I would have had more time with you so I'm partly to blame anyway." He gave Chuck a firm pat on the cheek, and hugged him tight. "Now you'd best be going... It's getting late."

"Okay," Chuck took his cloak down from beside the door, clasping it around his neck. "Love you, papa. I'll try to visit longer next time."

"I love you too. Be careful in those woods."

Chuck nodded. "I'll try." He took his basket up after putting on his leather gloves, and left through the open door. He paused a second, checking that his little toy rabbit was in his pocket—it was, so he waved to his father and went off down the path.

An hour passed, and he encountered very few people on his way to the woods. A farmer taking her wares into town, and a stray cat he stopped to pet. Other than that the road was empty. It was colder than the day before, but clear and dry so at least Chuck didn't have to worry about trekking through mud or anything like that.

Something about the way the sunlight lined the path toward the forest entranced Chuck. Thin slices of light interspersed with the shadows of the undergrowth. He hesitated just before the edge of the woods. It would be cold, for sure... He looked up at the sky. What time was it? His pocket watch read half past three... Much later than he'd realized... He certainly wouldn't get home until after dark.

Oh well. Nothing to be done about that. He tightened his cloak about him and headed into the trees.

Parts of the forest were still fairly damp from the day before, and possibly from early morning frost that hadn't melted—the shade kept it cold and wet. Chuck stuck to the path and spent a good hour walking before he felt the need for a break. Having traveled the day before, his legs just ached a little more than they might have... He put his basket on the path and sat down on top of it, lacking any other possible seat. He ate a pear while he rested.

Back to traveling, and the light was already going such a sweet golden color, reaching almost horizontally through the trees and sending long shadows. Chuck pulled his hood up as he walked. Very few animals were out and about, just like the day before... Chuck wondered if there might be something wrong. In previous trips, there had always been so many animals—birds, especially. Bustling around, singing, chirping... He fidgeted with his free hand, pulling at a pilled bit of wool on his cloak.

When the sun set, Chuck didn't see the pink sky. Just some warm beams of light, once, and then back to increasing darkness.

He stopped in the clearing where he had spoken with Lucifer as dusk set in. He looked up at the dimming sky. Specks here and there, as the stars slowly began to peek out through the fading blue of the night.

Chuck sat in a dry patch of flowers and grass, opening up his basket. He couldn't see very well in the dark, especially with the moon still presumably below the horizon, so he fumbled quite a bit searching for his sandwich. He wondered if he had his tinderbox...

"Stupid..." Chuck patted around in the basket, and his pockets. "Who doesn't bring a lamp traveling with them?!" He found nothing, of course.

He resigned himself to eating in the dark.

He most certainly dropped some of the sandwich filling into his lap, and almost missed his face once or twice as he ate—poor coordination combined with low light... A challenge, for sure.

In any case, there was no question about it—Chuck could not continue traveling in the dark. The darker it got, the more likely he would be to lose his footing or even lose the path entirely. He wouldn't be able to read any signs, either, so the chance that he would go the entirely wrong direction was strong as well... He sighed. Perhaps he could sleep in the clearing but if he were honest with himself, the prospect scared him. Sure, it wasn't as cold in the spring but it still got cool at night, and without any light or shelter... Well, staying in a clearing all alone with nothing to protect himself seemed a bad idea.

But what other option did he have?

Chuck took his dirty shirt out of the picnic basket and rolled it up to use as a pillow, laying down in the grass. He curled up to cover as much of himself with his cloak as possible, but laying on his side staring into the black depths of the trees left him with goosebumps running up his arms. He rolled onto his back and looked up at the stars as they grew more numerous. He took off his glasses, and the stars blurred, but there was something beautiful about the fuzzy glittering expanse of the night sky.

He dozed off hugging his corduroy rabbit under his cloak.

It seemed like a breath later he was shaken awake, a bright light in his eyes and a hand on his shoulder. He shielded his face and squinted at the silhouette crouched beside him.

"What's wrong with you?"

Chuck frowned. "What—" He sat up with a glare, patting around for his glasses. After shoving them onto his face the silhouette resolved into a slightly more crisp silhouette. "What time is it?"

"About 7:30." Moving the lamp slightly closer and to the side, Lucifer revealed himself. Gold edges along the sides of his face and hair, shoulder... He stood and held out his hand. "You really shouldn't be sleeping in the middle of the forest."

Chuck sighed. He let Lucifer help him to his feet. "Listen, I know. But I'm stupid, okay?" He patted his cloak down before reaching down to put his wadded up shirt back in the basket. "I neglected to bring a lantern or any kind of tinder or fire-making supplies, like an idiot... It was either wander blindly in the woods or sleep in the clearing."

Lucifer shook his head. "You're lucky you haven't been eaten."

"Whatever," Chuck stuck close to Lucifer as they left the clearing. "Most wild animals don't actually eat people, anyway. Unless they're starving to death or something!" He hugged his basket close as he walked, most of his attention on the ground below his feet. Even with the warm light from the lamp, the shadows were so deep he sometimes stumbled on hidden roots or rocks.

As they went, Lucifer walked slowly. Presumably so Chuck wouldn't trail too far behind. He even reached out a stabilizing hand every once in a while if Chuck seemed especially likely to tip over.

They walked maybe an hour before taking a quick break on a fallen log. Chuck offered some of his food to Lucifer—held out a bit of the bread, head tilted. "Are you hungry?"

Lucifer shook his head, and it wasn’t long before they set off again.

They traded basket and lamp, so that Lucifer walked behind Chuck with the nearly empty picnic basket, and Chuck went ahead with the lamp held out in front of him, lighting the path and stopping every once in a while to check the signs so he could be sure they were headed in the right direction.

Once, a deer burst out onto the path, causing Chuck to yelp and stumble backwards—he almost fell onto his back but Lucifer caught him and steadied him, as the deer dashed into the blackness between the trees. Chuck took a few long moments to catch his breath, and ignored Lucifer's poorly suppressed laughter.

The ring of light around them was soft and wavering, and outside the lamp's illumination was jet black. Perhaps outside of the forest they would have been able to see better, but under the shadows of the trees very little moonlight leaked through. Just a slight sparkle here and there. Chuck tried to hold the lamp so it wouldn't glare off his glasses and slowly, it began to grow a little less dark.

As the trees thinned, the moon in the sky let down some pale illumination between the leaves.

Chuck hurried along the path, stumbling only occasionally.

Fewer and fewer trees and then—the forest receded behind them, and ahead Chuck could just see the flicker of a candle in a house's window. How long had they been walking? A few hours, probably... Chuck would have run if he'd had the energy, but his legs were so sore he just shuffled down the path, closed-up flowers and grasses brushing against his knees.

In a moment of careless excitement, he reached for Lucifer's hand—it was cold, so much so that it startled him a little. He let go and looked over his shoulder up at Lucifer.

Lucifer just smiled... A slow, smooth smile. "Too chilly?"

Chuck shrugged. "Just, uh... Didn't... mean to grab you..." He walked a little faster. Lucifer kept pace with ease, at what seemed like a slow and leisurely pace for him. The benefit of height and longer legs.

"Don't be so shy, hm?" Lucifer took Chuck's hand, and his cold palm could be felt even through the leather of Chuck's worn-out gloves. "You were so friendly, earlier... Slicing up a pear..." He smirked.

Wrinkling his forehead, Chuck let Lucifer hold his hand. "Pears? But I offered you bread, not a pear..." He frowned to himself. "The dog ate—" He looked up at Lucifer. "No."

"Don't think too hard." Lucifer raised an eyebrow. "Might injure yourself."

Chuck huffed. He stopped as they drew close to the row of houses where he lived. Just a few feet away from his front door. "I don't know if you're... a werewolf, or just some guy who likes to mess with people but—" He raised the lamp, gesturing toward his house. "You've been kind of helpful to me, so... Why don't you come stay the night, or at least come inside and have something to drink."

For a few moments, Lucifer considered. Then he shook his head and said, "I think I'd better be on my way, actually." He took the lamp from Chuck, giving him back his basket with a shallow bow. "But perhaps we'll meet again."

"Maybe..." Chuck hovered in the doorway, as Lucifer took his leave.

The lamp's light diminished, and disappeared into the night.

 

**Author's Note:**

> this is just something i've been randomly writing off and on when I'm bored. Figured I might as well post it.


End file.
